


Synthetic Love // Troyler

by orphan_account



Category: Blue - Troye Sivan (Song), Blue Neighbourhood | Wild - Troye Sivan (Music Videos), Connor Franta - Youtuber, Troye Sivan - Youtuber, Tyler Oakley - Youtuber
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bullying, Child Neglect, Depression, Fluff, High School, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Social Anxiety, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: synthetic; adjective: (of a proposition) having truth or falsity determinable by recourse to experience.If Troye was a tiny piece in life's great puzzle, he'd be the smallest, most boring, most unappealing corner piece, cast away to the edges, uncared for and unnoticeable, except for those that seek to hurt him. His mother, his nonexistent father, the boys at school; it seems like everyone has some reason to hate him.He's tried being in love, and it's never worked out for him. He's ended up broken every time, each hit from a lost partner a little harder, cracking his fragile heart a little bit more. The trio of somehow-popular bullies at his school only drag him even further.In the bleakness of it all, a certain boy finds in himself a change of heart, and wishes to change and be a better person, especially toward Troye. But for him, it may be too late.Note: this is a variation of my books Telepathic Love and Synthetic Love on Wattpad. The first is made mostly of mini-chapters under 50 words, so I've obviously had to change some things and add filler to make feasibly long chapters on here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> || Trigger warnings: abuse, bullying, violence, slurs ||

**|| Troye's POV ||**

The sound of my timid footsteps joined in the chaotic echo of the hallway. Chatter and shuffling, yelling and the sound of slipping shoes, all condensed into the maddening drone bouncing off the walls, threatening to burst my eardrums. I really wished I had access to a pair of earbuds and a device capable of paying music, but my mother never cared enough to allow for me to have one, despite having more than enough money to pay for all the alcohol she drank.

I kept my head down, thus easily avoiding eye contact with everyone. Maybe I'd be able to avoid them, though I'd always tried to do so by stay as unnoticeable as possible, and it rarely worked, as manifested by the bruises littered across my arms, legs, back, and torso. Why else would I wear long sleeves all year, even in August and May?

"Hey, twinkle toes!" A cruel voice flew from behind me. I mentally cursed myself for wearing my pastel blue knockoff Converse, which apparently wasn't a common, or acceptable, thing to wear at my school. I let out a quiet, sad sigh as I slowly shut my locker door. A trio of boys approached, towering over my all-too-tiny frame.

The first one, Greg, sneered, snapping his foot out to land a subtle but painful kick on my shin. The other two smirked, and Greg seized my hand, _hard_. He leaned in until our faces were inches apart, and his piercing blue eyes bored into mine. "Come on. You know what's coming, don't you?" I did, in fact. After years of them taking it upon themselves to consistently beat me up, I always knew what was to come.

I remained silent, averting my gaze from Greg's. The second bully, Felix, cuffed Greg's hand out of the way and grabbed me by the back of my collar. "Of course he does. He knows what we do to worthless faggots like him. Come on, twink." Felix roughly tugged at my collar, half-dragging me across the rapidly emptying hall. No one really noticed, and if anyone did, they didn't care, as always. Not even the teachers thought it was any of their business to help me; but seeing as most of them here homophobic themselves, it didn't come as much of a surprise.

We arrived at the bathroom, the one in the gym hallway that no one used except to smoke and have sex. Even with the common happenings that occurred in there, it was still empty. Felix and Greg held onto each of my arms, while the third boy stayed behind and watched rather bemusedly. Tyler usually did, though the reason why was lost on me. He always just seemed to stand back and watch, looking at the scene before him. I'd have assumed that he was the 'boss' of the trio, but considering his small stature compared to the other two, it had to be something else. He was also often the butt of the other two's jokes; many times I saw Felix and Greg making fun of him, in a friendly manner (well, as friendly as two homophobic bullies could be), but he didn't always laugh. Not that I'd blame him; the other boys' senses of humor weren't the most accommodating.

My thoughts were occupied with a million different things and emotions as I was shoved up against the far wall. A large fist pounded into my abdomen, knocking the breath out of me and sending me down on all fours. The toe of a boot was thrust into my side, and once I was down, another kick landed on my spine. I curled up, protecting my face with my forearms and covering my ears. I screwed my eyes shut and just waited for it to end. Their cruel voices, shouting slurs and insults, danced through my hands and echoed in my mind.

_Stupid._

_Faggot._

_Twink._

_Useless._

_Worthless._

_Should just go die._

_Like all the other fags in the world._

Then my hands were harshly pried from my face, and for a split second, I saw Felix's wild expression: his face twisted into a sneer, his eyes squinted into evil slits, and he was very obviously enjoying my suffering. He always did.

His fist collided with my face, and everything went black.

  **~~~~~**

The last thing I wanted to do when I regained consciousness was open my eyes, because I knew exactly what would happen. I'd been inflicted with this scenario enough times; I could recite the order of events by memory. I cracked one eye

I shakily and painfully rose, then observed myself in the dirty, cracked mirror. There was a large red and purple mark on my nose, as well as a cut on my forehead and a rapidly forming black eye. Who knows what new maladies were beneath my blue hoodie? I didn't want to find out. Instead I cautiously walked out of the bathroom, constantly looking over my shoulder for any sign of my torturers. 

I made my way down the halls and out one of the side exits; there was no way in heaven that I was going to show up to class in my current state. There wasn't any snow, even though it was nearing the end of November. I pulled my hood up, halfway over my eyes, and dug my bony hands into the thick middle pocket, clasping them together for warmth. As the cold subsided, and I was able to ignore the freezing wind, the numbness and thoughtlessness melted away. A crushing dead feeling pressed down onto me. The words of my oppressors played over and over in my head.

_Worthless._

_Stupid._

_Faggot._

_Twink._

They repeated, growing louder and louder, until my mind's voice screamed, as if trying to force it into my memory, and make it especially well known. I was simply a worthless, stupid faggot who deserved everything he received at school and at home. I deserved to be hated and beaten, and I didn't deserve to exist. There wasn't one person in this world who thought I was a good thing, not even my mother, who had only stayed around so she wouldn't be accused of neglect. Now that I was nearing age eighteen, who knows what she'd do? Sooner or later I'd be a worthless, stupid,  _homeless_ faggot. Then maybe I'd be able to just die out on the street, alone and unnoticed. That seemed like the proper way to go.

Above all, above the fact that I was unwanted and useless and gay, was the fact that I was merely nothing. I meant nothing, I contributed nothing, I did nothing right, I was simply nothing. Nothingness has no purpose, no reason to be there, it's only a burden to whatever's around it, and I fit the bill perfectly.

I found myself turning down the street that led to the library instead of the ghetto I so hatefully resided in. I often went there when I needed quiet. It was such a peaceful place, where you were guaranteed never to be disturbed, and could sit and browse and read all day if you desired. I felt a rather nice sense of closure whenever I went there.

But this time, there would be no peace, no quiet. My mind was reeling, screaming, torturing itself with the intrusive thoughts. None of the senses would be nice. I needed some music to calm me down at least a tiny bit, before the voices in my head drove me insane.

The building was mostly devoid, on account of it being the middle of a school day. I kept my head down and avoided looking at the bright-faced men and women behind counters or restocking shelves. If they saw my face, they'd question and confront me, and that was the last thing I needed. I hurried to the back, into the study room, where a few rows of computers sat, lonely and waiting to be used.

My desire for music forgotten, I chose the one in the far corner, with the screen facing the back wall, so no one could see what I typed into the search bar.

_ways to kill yourself_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first installment of Synthetic Love! What drama, what sadness, what insanity to ensue? Bookmark/follow to keep updated! (also leave a kudo or two...it makes me happy cause I'm a depressed wimp who needs constant validation lmao hahahaha kill me)  
> The updates here will be slow, cause, y'know, I'm starting to turn into an adult, whether I want to or not, so :/// expect the second part in a week or two. If it's longer than that, you have my permission to come over here and punch me in the tit.  
> If you're interested, I have another version of this book up on my Wattpad (where every chapter is under 50 words), and it's called Telepathic Love, with a sequel called Synthetic Love. I also have a few other books there, so check it out! ^_^  
> https://www.wattpad.com/user/whisk-has-an-h


	2. Chapter 2

**|| Tyler ||**

Despite the heavy fog blanketed over the city, it was actually quite brisk. The chill smacked me in the face as I walked out the doors.

As I boarded the bus, I thought of that kid, Troye. How ruthlessly I and the other boys treated him. How pained his expression always was. I felt sorry for him, and wished I could do something about the way he was treated. More so, I wished I could be true to my own feelings: the sickly depression that seemed to crush my heart every time I saw his eyes well up with tears.

I truly felt so bad for him, but I couldn't help him unless I wanted to become like him: bullied, beaten, and outcasted.

 _I guess it doesn't really help that I'm gay, too,_ I forlornly thought to myself as I took my seat next to Caspar, another popular guy who was engrossed in his phone. Closeted and gay, that is. Don't forget the part where I was also surrounded by cruel but popular homophobes, the guy next to me being one of them.

Being one of my bus' first stops, I didn't have much time to let my thoughts float around until I had to shove myself in front of Caspar to exit. He slapped me on the back heartily, with a farewell that I didn't really hear. I just couldn't stop thinking about Troye... Was he ok? What was he doing now? Should I find his number and ask him?

No, that was stupid. There was no way I'd evoke a decent response from the very kid my group and I bullied.

"Hello, Tyler!" My mother exclaimed proudly from the kitchen as I stepped into the front door. I greeted her with a nod and grunt. She was slow-cooking something, probably a chicken. I loved chicken, and I was actually pretty hungry.

"Don't forget, we have Mass tonight."

My appetite fled me. I felt my expression morph into a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. Oh right, my family was Catholic; the second reason I was still in the closet. And it was Wednesday. She looked up from the pot, apparently to witness my response. We locked eyes for a second, as each of us waited for a sign of understanding from the other. I was momentarily caught in her gaze, like a deer in the headlights, but soon regained my mental footage. "Oh, right," I muttered lamely. She smiled and nodded approvingly, and turned back to her cooking.

I rushed upstairs to my room, avoiding any other encounters with the rest of my family members. I hated attending Mass, which happened twice a week for us, on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. Truthfully speaking, I wasn't religious like the rest of my family. In my mind, religion was just a barrier to doing things that might benefit you, or just doing things in general. It was the root of conflict and hate, and really just seemed so pointless and trivial. Why dedicate my life to something that likely wasn't even real and miss opportunities when I could just control my own destiny, doing what I wanted, without having to worry about whether I angered some dude in the sky?

My opinions on religion were probably rooted in the fact that I was homosexual, a "choice" that was both horrifying and worthy of damnation in the church. I had no idea why no one understood that I didn't choose to be this way. Honestly, I'd have chosen to be straight if I could. I'd feel more accepted that way.

I banished my thoughts and replaced them with music as I put my headphones on and opened up my laptop, throwing myself onto my bed. I was lucky to have it, I'd bought it myself, after saving every scrap of money I got for a year. I looked at the time reluctantly: I had three hours to browse the internet and not give a shit about homework until my family packed into our mini-van and made for the church. _What is my life turning into,_  I thought with a sigh.

I went to Youtube on one tab and Facebook on the other, quickly choosing a playlist to listen to and switching tabs to log in. The first thing I saw on my newsfeed - a post that I was tagged in -  made my heart drop.

 **Greg Jackson** with **Troye Sivan Mellet** and **2 others   1 hr**

_Look what Twinkly Toes was wearing today! I love the pink, really brings out his gay!_

**76 Likes   17 Comments   2 Shares**

Attached was a picture of Troye from earlier today, taken while he was walking down the hall, head down, completely oblivious to the photo. I didn't want to look at the comments, but I did anyway.

 **Felix Kjellberg . 45 Min**    _Dude, the first thing i thought when i saw him was "holy shit he's gay af" lol. Right **Greg Jackson Tyler Oakley**?_

**Like .  Reply . 6 Likes . 3 Replies**

I didn't want to reply to that. I continued scrolling through, not bothering to really read any, until I found one I didn't want to see.

 **Troye Sivan Mellet . 13 mins** _I love that shirt. so what?_

**Like . Reply . 4 Replies**

I shook my head at his comment. He was asking to get his ass beaten, both virtually and in real life. I clicked on the replies, almost involuntarily, even though I knew exactly what they said.

 **Felix Kjellberg . 11 mins** _So what? u should be so ashamed of urself u freak._

 **Caspar Lee . 9 mins** _Yeah, srsly. youre a fuckin freak of nature_

 **Greg Jackson . 6 mins** _Like, you aren't even a human. gays aren't humans, they're gays._

 **Greg Jackson**   **.** **5 mins** _Take my words to heart and fucking die._

I felt my heart crack. It wasn't just the comment, but the fact that Troye didn't reply. He was probably taking it to heart, just as Greg had instructed, thinking about, pondering the concept of death, weighing his options...

I gave a long, loud sigh. This was unacceptable. I had to do something about this, not just for Troye's sake, but for mine. Provoking a suicide was a crime; and legal matters aside, I couldn't live with the burden of someone's death on my shoulders. After all, I _was_  part of the group of bullies, no matter how unwillingly. I had to get some message to him, somehow. Facebook Messenger seemed like the most viable option, but I had to way of knowing if he'd reply, or even see something I sent in the first place.

"Fuck it," I murmured, as I went to Troye's profile and clicked the _Message_  button. I had to try. It was the least I could do. I began typing out a message, planning to make it long and elegant, explaining everything: from why I was in the group of bullies to the many different ways I wanted to help him. But halfway into the text, I looked at everything I'd written and saw nothing but a pile of garbage. I erased it all, and attempted to start over, rewording what I wanted. Again I looked, and again I erased.

I moved my hands from my keyboard to my sides, and thought hard about what I really wanted to convey to Troye. After about five minutes, I set to typing again, eventually deciding on something much simpler. Almost _too_  simple, merely three words.

_I'm sorry, Troye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... um.
> 
> hope you...enjoyed it..! *sigh*
> 
> sorry it's been forever. idk i've been uninspired and sick and bleh.
> 
> hope it wasn't too bad.


End file.
